


we talk street art and sarcasm, crass humor and high fashion

by masonjars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonjars/pseuds/masonjars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> "“Never was an Usher fan, myself.” Harry says, “but I did used to write my girlfriends' poems based off of Cascada songs.”</p><p>“So romantic,” Zayn teases, “were they all based off of Everytime We Touch?”</p><p>“Only 1.” Harry laughs, puts on foot on the wall behind him. He’s got long legs, classic model, but he’s got a little meat on his thighs that Zayn appreciates. The glossy shine of his boots catch the light from the street lamps above them. He looks back up and sees Harry watching him, smiling like he just caught Zayn in something." </p><p>Zayn and Harry are models, and maybe something in-between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we talk street art and sarcasm, crass humor and high fashion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrysprostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrysprostate/gifts).



> To harrysprostate, I hope you like this! All your prompts were so fun, but this one was my favorite! I tried to keep it as close to the prompt as I could, so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to one of my real life friends for being my beta, they have now seen a new side of me.
> 
> Note, neither I or my beta have ever been models or heavily involved in the fashion world. So if there are any mistakes, feel free to comment and tell me so I can fix them!
> 
> Title from Coffee by Miguel.
> 
> Edit: it's obvious I was sleep deprived when I was posting this, due to the fact there was a typo in my summary even after I read over it 15 times. Smh at myself.

 One thing Zayn will never get used to is walking down the runway. He was quiet as a child, introverted and mousy, and he never liked being in the spotlight for too long. Little Zayn never would have seen his older self here, the backstage of Dries Van Noten, waiting to walk in front of hundreds of people. He prides himself on breaking out of his shell during his awkward teenage years, but there’s always habits he can’t completely shake. His palms sweat and he resists the urge to wipe them on the floral patterned trousers he’s dressed in. He always gets that nervousness, that fight or flight response telling his body to turn around and run. He breathes in through his nose deeply, exhales through his mouth, and then it’s his turn. He doesn’t think about anything as he walks, only that he has to reach the end of the stage. The other models have teased him for it, they say they think about where they're going out that night, if they should call their parents soon, or if they need to get the groceries. The only thing Zayn thinks is a mantra of walk straight, keep your head up, don’t fuck this up. He holds his breath the whole walk, doesn’t exhale until he’s safely made it backstage.

“Looking good as always, Malik.” Ben praises, clapping Zayn on the back. Ben’s been his agent for years, scouted him when he moved to London for university. Ben planned on being some kind of photographer, but he landed on a different side of it as head of a fashion agency.

“Thanks, mate.” Zayn says, eyeing the other models backstage. He was around one of the last to walk, and it's nearing the last model. They have to cross back over the runway soon.

“Are you still coming out to the party tonight? Louis Vuitton reps are going to be there to finalize the campaign.” Ben asks.

Zayn hates going out to parties just to talk business, but he nods. “Can’t say no to Louis Vuitton.”

Ben smiles, “Good lad.”

He’s got to go then, the models lining up once again for the finale. He tells Ben goodbye and finds his place in the line, trying to calm his nerves.

                                                                                            --    

 He’s feeling weirdly sentimental tonight, the pull he gets in his chest sometimes when he just wants something familiar. He loves his job, and his home now, but sometimes he misses going places where he knows all the streets and back roads and shops like the back of his hand. He supposes it’s the little bit of alcohol he’s already consumed tonight, but he’s feeling gloomy on the ride over to the industry party Ben wants him to come too.

The entrance is crowded, photographers lined up and snapping pictures lighting up the dark with their flash on high. He’s not in the mood to be photographed right now, but he sucks it up and does a neutral face, hoping it comes off as sexy rather than moody and tipsy. It still freaks him out that people know his name, photographers calling “Zayn! Look here!” He gets in without incident, though. The club is dimly lit, crowded with models like him. And lots of guys like Ben, there to drum up work. Waitresses walk around carrying shots on silver trays, and it’s definitely a more exciting party than those that play classical music and have waiters carrying around tall flutes of champagne. It’s loud club music instead, some DJ he doesn’t recognize.

He spots Ben, finally, with some boy he doesn’t know tucked under his arm. Zayn has seen many boys before, plenty tall and lanky, but something about him stands out. He definitely a model, got the build for it, and he’s standing pigeon toed in a pair of glossy leather boots. Real leather, Zayn notes, to go along with a shirt Zayn’s seen on the Saint Laurent runway recently. And he’s wearing like it’s fucking casual wear, tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans so tight Zayn’s wondering how his balls have got circulation. He feels like his feet are on autopilot, weaving through the crowd until he’s stood in front of Ben and the boy.

“Zayn!” Ben cheers, pulling Zayn into half of a hug. The boy beside him smiles, and he’s as pretty up close as he was far away. He greets Zayn even though he doesn’t know him, kisses one of his cheeks and then the other. His curls tickle the side of Zayn’s face whenever he leans in, and he gets a smell of his cologne on his shirt collar. Zayn’s gone for him and he doesn’t even know his name.

“I’m Harry.” he says, like he read Zayn’s mind.

“Zayn.”

“Harry’s our newest addition,” Ben says, and Zayn watches the way he slips a hand from Harry’s shoulder to his back, "he's switched from his last agency."

"Ben's a nice guy, you'll really like him." Zayn smiles. He figures Harry already knows Ben well enough from the way he's tucked under his arm, but he says it anyway.  Harry smiles back, very politely. He’s got a very quaint vibe, like he’s a just common lad, even though what he’s wearing would cost enough for a couple months rent.

“Let me introduce you to the Louis Vuitton people.” Ben says, patting Harry on the shoulder. He leads them both over to a booth in the VIP section where two men sit. They look very posh, just like any other fashion rep does. They’re easy to talk to, thankfully, the man on the left saying he’d seen Zayn walk earlier that day. He tells him the whole ‘you’ve got a very interesting face’ thing he’s heard before. He’s happy for the work though, Louis Vuitton is good publicity.

They practically eat Harry up. He is very charming, flirty and likeable. Everyone is drawn to him, it seems, the men wanting to know everything about his backstory. He’s 21, from Holmes Chapel. He was planning on going to uni when he got scouted working in a bakery. He’s got one sister and a mum and he’s been modeling for four years. He wanted to go to uni for music before he left to become a model and he loves Fleetwood Mac.

The men say they’ve have for sure gotten a spot on the campaign, passing around flutes of champagne to celebrate. Zayn wishes he found it that easy to talk to industry guys. He still finds himself getting nervous, mostly just letting Ben do the talking for him. Harry just seems to be a different breed, laughing with them like he’s known them for years. He’s mostly just tired now, ready to go back home. He’s gotten his job and he doesn’t feel like clubbing tonight. Ben excuses himself from the table, and Zayn waits a bit before doing the same. To his surprise, Harry follows as he walks back to the main part of the club. It even more crowded than it was before, the music loud and vibrating off the walls.

“Gonna go for a smoke.” Zayn calls over the music, beckons Harry to come with him. He’s cute, and he seems interested, so Zayn thinks he may stick around long enough to see how this plays out.

He leads them back out to the entrance of the club, the paparazzi long gone now that anyone worth photographing has gone inside. The brick feels cool on his back but it’s hot outside, California weather.

“Do you smoke?” Zayn asks, fishing out his pack and lighter.

“Asthma,” Harry says, pointing at his throat, “tried it once, I almost choked to death.”

Zayn pauses. “Can you handle second hand smoke?” He almost shoves his cig back in the pack until Harry laughs.

“I’ll be fine, mate. Thanks for thinking about me, though.” He smiles after he says it. Zayn wonders if he flirts like this with everyone.

Zayn just smokes in silence for a bit, and Harry types away on his phone. It’s nice, the loud club beat now just a faint murmur, muffled by the brick walls.

“Do you miss back home?” Zayn doesn’t know why he asks, but he does. Harry seems open.

“Sometimes,” Harry says, shoving his phone in his back pocket, “Miss being able to go to my mum’s whenever I wanted.”

“How long have you been modeling?” Harry asks.

“Almost 4 years.” Zayn says, exhaling smokes.

“Veteran,” Harry’s jokes, “tell me your backstory.”

“Started when I was 18, scouted by Ben. I lived with my mum and dad and my 3 sisters.” Zayn starts, “what else do you want to know?”

Harry pretends like he’s in deep thought, tapping his finger on his chin. “Who were you friends with back home?"

“These two brothers, Danny and Ant. And a girl named Melissa. The only thing we ever did was smoke Danny’s shitty weed and listen to Usher.”

Harry laughs, loud enough it makes the congregation of people on the sidewalk stare at them.

“Never was an Usher fan, myself.” Harry says, “but I did used to write my girlfriends' poems based off of Cascada songs.”

“So romantic,” Zayn teases, “were they all based off of Everytime We Touch?”

“Only 1.” Harry laughs, puts on foot on the wall behind him. He’s got long legs, classic model, but he’s got a little meat on his thighs that Zayn appreciates. The glossy shine of his boots that the light from the street lamps above them. He looks back up and sees Harry watching him, smiling like he just caught Zayn in something.

"Who were your friends, then?" Zayn asks.

"I jumped around a lot. Had a lot of mates. We drank a lot of cheap vodka, so you're not alone in making bad teenage decisions."

"Made a lot of those." Zayn laughs, tapping the ash of the end of his cig.

Zayn’s opens his mouth say something else when Harry’s phone goes off, the default Iphone alarm tone.

“Shit, it’s already 1.” Harry says, almost sounding sad, “I’ve got to be up in the morning for spin class. I wanted to make sure I got to workout before the shoot tomorrow.”

“Spin class?” Zayn laughs, wondering what the hell kind of person Harry is.

“It only meets certain times a week,” Harry frowns, “and my favorite instructor works tomorrow.”

He digs his car keys out of his back pocket, and Zayn laughs to himself. Harry’s one of a kind.

“I’m excited to work with you tomorrow,” Harry says, walking towards a white vintage Mercedes Benz, “It was very nice meeting you.”

And then he’s off, and Zayn’s left feeling confused but hopeful.

                                                                                     --

The Louis Vuitton shoot the next day is in a studio across town from Zayn’s apartment. They want him to wear their new line of silk jackets, the stylist leading him to a room where they’ve got them hanging on stainless steel clothing racks. The jacket they give him is a royal navy, adorned with a blue tiger and white flowers intertwined together. He feels a bit bad ass in it, wonders if they’ll gift their models any pieces.  

He doesn’t spot Harry until he’s getting changed into his second jacket, this one black with the same tiger.

“I’m really liking this collection.” Harry comments to him, letting the stylist tie a piece of ribbon with ‘Louis Vuitton’ printed across it around his neck. Harry’s jacket has some pastel pinks and blues in it, gold birds printed with their wings outstretched. It looks like something he would wear for a casual day out.

The photographer lines them up together in front of a black wall, securing the same ribbon around Zayn’s neck. They want pretty average poses, nothing too hard. Being this close to Harry reminds him of the club last night, Harry’s long, long legs in skinny jeans, now hidden by the trousers they're both dressed in.

It’s a pretty easy shoot, made easier by how fun Harry is. He’s doesn’t seem intimidated by the brand they’re working for, jokes with the photographer like they’re long lost friends. Zayn doesn’t always take to people easily, but Harry’s practically infectious. He has half the crew in love with him by noon.

They’re putting his street clothes back on, Zayn shoving his ripped up jeans up his legs when he hears someone bellow, “Fuckers!”, interrupting Harry’s story about the dream he had last night. He looks up, sees the platinum blonde hair styled high in a quiff and knows immediately who it is.  
Niall wraps them both in a hug, and it would be sweet if Zayn’s trousers were on and Harry wasn’t wearing only a small pair of red briefs. Zayn has no idea how Niall would even know Harry, but he’s not surprised. Niall knows almost everyone, and he pulls out of the hug to launch into some intricate handshake with Harry.   
"How did I not see you two?" Niall says once they've finished, exploding his fist and twinkling his fingers.   
  
"On the other side of the studio, mate." Harry says, "Have you meet Zayn?"  
  
Niall does that obnoxious laugh, wraps his arm around Zayn's shoulders. "I've known Zayn here since he first started," he says, "back when he was young and cute."   
  
"Piss off," Zayn laughs, pushes Niall away. Harry watches all of it with a bemused face.   
  
"He still looks young." Harry says, quirks his mouth into a small smile.   
"You know what I mean," Niall continues, "You should have seen him, he used to have a slit in each eyebrow."   
  
Zayn groans and pushes Niall off of him, making Harry laugh. "What's the reason you came over here, then? Because you weren't very cute either."   
  
Niall fake gasps, puts his hand over his chest. "Can't believe I can't just come over and have a chat with my mates."   
  
"I do have something though," Niall continues, "Are you lads coming to the club Liam's DJing tonight? It's a couple blocks from here."   
"He invited me, wasn't sure if I was going to go or not." Zayn shrugs.  
"Why don't we take Harry with us?" Niall says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. It reminds him of when he used to go out with Niall when he first started modeling, how excited he would always get.   
"Do you want to come?" Zayn asks, and Harry says yes.   
"Liam's a good DJ, you'll like him." Niall says before being called back over to shoot the next pieces of the collection, but he yells, "I'll see you lot there!" before he's gone in a whirlwind of blonde hair dye.   
  
"I'll come over to yours at 8, if that's okay." Zayn says. He's actually happy Niall decided to try and drag Harry out, he's been wanting to spend more time with him.   
"That's fine." Harry says, finally locking his phone and shoving it back into his trouser pocket. He's starts shoving his jeans back up his hips.  
He thinks back to Harry last night, his long legs and how close he was to Zayn in the alleyway, and wonders what else could happen. They exchange numbers and Harry puts his address in the 'notes' section of Zayn's iPhone before they separate.  
Zayn shows up at Harry’s at 8:15. He texts him a quick, ‘I’m here’. Harry’s house is pretty, big and open. He’s got trees and shrubs in the front yard, flowers growing in well managed rows. Harry comes out the front door wearing an almost see through black button down, one nipple showing.   
  
He slides into the backseat beside Zayn, smelling of expensive cologne. Zayn can see all his tattoos like this, including the butterfly standing out starkly on his stomach. It would look ridiculous on anyone else, but it works on Harry.  
  
“Sorry I’m a bit late.” Zayn says as the driver pulls out of Harry’s driveway.   
  
“It’s fine, mate.” Harry says, sliding around the rings his fingers. “I haven’t been proper clubbing in ages.”  
  
“You’ve been going to only posh parties?” Zayn teases, “Saturday brunches?”  
  
Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “I just don’t like it all that much anymore. Nothing wrong with a night in with some wine.”  
  
“Sound like my mum.” Zayn laughs, making Harry pretend to ignore him for the rest of the ride.  
  
They get there quickly, the driver parking the car around the back of the club to avoid all the camera's waiting at the entrance. It all feels very proper celebrity and annoying, but Harry's smiling over at him almost serenely with a nipple popping out of his shirt, so it makes it alright.   
  
Harry slips out of his side and walks briskly over to Zayn's car door. He pauses when he sees Zayn has already opened the door for himself.   
  
"We're you going to open the door for me?" Zayn teases, let's Harry lead him to the back door of the club, held open by the security.   
  
"Trying to be a polite." Harry jokes, weaves his way through the club. It's loud, loud enough that Zayn can feel the floor vibrate under his feet and the bounce in his chest. It's packed as well, people Zayn recognizes from shoots, which he nods at as Harry pulls him to the table Niall has saved. Harry gets stopped every couple of steps, pulled into hugs from girls with bleach blonde hair and random men Zayn's never seen before. Harry just seems to somehow know everyone, and he gets so many hugs and sloppy kisses on the cheek from people already pissed to count.   
  
They've almost arrived to the table, Harry waiting until the woman who pulled him into a hug has turned her back to whisper in Zayn's ear that he has no idea who she was, when he's pulled into a hug by Daisy Lowe. Zayn's still reeling from Harry's breath hot on his ear, how he pressed himself flush to Zayn's side. Being in clubs always makes him feel like he's on the pull, a habit he can't shake after growing up trying to fuck in dimly lit clubs and house parties back home.   
  
He just stares at them for a moment, Daisy talking about how Harry should come join their table, how he needs to come out to brunch sometime, how she's joined a new cycling club he'd like. Harry fits like a puzzle piece in the whole posh London scene, down to the fucking St. Laurent scarf he's got tied around his neck.   
  
"This is Zayn, one of my friends." Harry introduces, and Daisy smiles nicely, gives Zayn a little side hug. Zayn's trying not to think about her tits spilling out of the red dress she’s wearing.  
  
There's a call of “Harry!”  that makes him snap his head up to see Nick Grimshaw bounding over to Harry. His quiff is a bit wilted and he's got a shine of sweat on his face. He looks older in person, wrinkles less hidden.   
  
“Haven’t seen you in ages." Nick greets, "Have you not even got a drink yet?" He frowns, looking down at Harry's hand.   
  
"We've just got here." Harry explains, "Zayn, this is Nick."   
  
"Harry showed me your photo shoot with Louis Vuitton," Nick says, glancing a little devious look at Harry, "You looked amazing in those silk jackets."   
  
Harry just smiles. "I could've told you were a model from a mile away, no one should have cheekbones like that." Nick stage-whispers, making the little group of socialites Nick drug over with him laugh.   
  
"Giving him a big head." Harry jokes, making Nick roll his eyes at him.   
  
“When does Liam’s set start?” Zayn asks, trying to peer around the mobs of people. He’d rather be pissed for this conversation, and he wants to get in a few drinks before Liam starts. Hopefully he’s better than the first club he DJed, where he played the same remix of Fucking Problems three times on accident.   
  
“About ten minutes, I’d say.” Nick smiles, “You can come over to our table if you like.”  
  
“Niall’s waiting on us, I think.” Harry says, looking over to the booth Niall texted and said he’d snagged. He waving his arms around animatedly, telling a story to some of the guy’s Zayn recognizes from his little Irish crew.   
  
“Have fun, then.” Nick says, following Daisy back to their own booth, “Come see me before you leave!”  
  
They finally make their way over to Niall's table, greeting Niall's bunch of friends. They're nice, and they all immediately want Zayn and Harry to go to the bar once they find out they haven't drank anything yet.   
  
Harry leads the way to the bar, weaving through masses of people. Zayn follows close, has to press up against him once they get to the busy bar.   
  
"Can't believe you're friends with Nick Grimshaw and all those posh fashion snobs." Zayn teases, waiting on his whiskey and Harry’s sangria.

“I used to be a lot closer to them,” Harry shrugs, “Not really into that scene anymore.”

“What, getting pissed every night?” Zayn laughs, handing Harry his drink once it’s came around. There’s people everywhere, it’s going to take ages to get through to Niall’s table. Harry must think that too, because he sits down at the bar stool.

“That, and drugs.” Harry says, stirring around the fruit in his drink with a straw, “It wasn’t a  healthy place for me.”

Zayn nods, puts a hand on Harry’s back. His skin’s hot, and Zayn wants to touch him everywhere.

Harry downs his sangaria in two strong sips. He takes one of Zayn’s shots, throwing it back before Zayn can even say anything.

“Are you still wild, then?” Zayn teases.

“Only sometimes.” Harry laughs, ordering his own whiskey shots. They start going back and forth, downing shot after shot. Liam’s set comes on eventually, the crowd cheering and letting out whistles.

Zayn’s fucked, and Harry has to be too. Harry tries to stand up from the bar chair, legs a little shaky, and starts pulling Zayn out onto the dance floor. He gets a glimpse of Harry’s little ass and long legs, before he’s pulling him around to face him.

“I can’t dance for shit.” Zayn yells over the music, making Harry cackle. There’s people all around them, but yet it still feels intimate from how close Harry pulled them together.

“I can’t either, who cares.” Harry says, before starting some kind of shimmy with his hips that makes Zayn laugh so hard he gets a hateful look from the girl beside him.

“You’re pissed.” Zayn says, and Harry retaliates with, “You’re pissed too!”  while still dancing.

He lets Harry do his little ‘dances’, the wildest being when he grinds up on Zayn’s leg.

He’s drunk enough to dance a little himself, making Harry cheer when he does a little hip movement. They both look like messes, Harry cackling until Zayn pulls him back to the bar stools to sit down.

“Do you live close?” Harry suddenly asks, and Zayn nods.

“Can I come over? I think I’m about to crash.” Harry yawns, and Zayn calls up the driver.

They both stumble into Zayn house fifteen minutes later. Harry helps himself to a glass of water, and Zayn leads them to his bedroom so they can watch the TV. He’s too pissed to trust himself from not falling off the couch, so the king sized bed sounds nice.

“Very nice house.” Harry compliments, pulling back the covers and laying down next to Zayn like this is something they do every night.

Zayn fucks around with trying to turn on the TV, when Harry leans over to him.

“I’ve got a secret for you,” Harry laughs, drunk enough that his cheeks have a red tint, “You’ve got to come close to me to hear it.”

Zayn obliges, drunk and horny and so close to Harry on the bed. Harry leans in, breathing hot into Zayn’s ear. He moves on hand onto Zayn’s upper thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into his jeans.

“You’re fit, and I want you to fuck me.” is Harry’s big secret, and he pulls away from Zayn’s ear to watch Zayn’s reaction. Zayn’s blood runs hot, and he kisses him before he can even think about it. He tastes like whiskey from all the shots he stole from Zayn, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat when Zayn sucks on his tongue.

“You’re such a shit,” Zayn teases, unbutton Harry’s top quickly. Harry just smiles, his hair spread around him on the pillow. Zayn licks over his nipple before sucking it into his mouth, adding a bit of pressure with his teeth. It makes Harry gasp, his hips jerking up. His dick is hard in his jeans, and it has to be aching by now. Zayn feels over him, jerks him over the fabric.

“About to put my mouth on you.” Zayn murmurs, unbuttoning Harry’s jeans and pulling them down to his thighs. Harry’s not wearing pants, so his dick just springs up and slaps wetly against his stomach. Harry laughs, hand covering his face, and Zayn’s never been this endeared with someone wearing an unbuttoned sheer shirt.

“Such a slag. It’s almost like you were expecting someone to fuck you tonight.” Zayn teases.

“Might have been.” Harry says, smiling. He’s big, and Zayn just plays with him first, watching the glide of his foreskin over the head of his cock.

“I want you to suck me, please.” Harry says, not at all embarrassed to ask for what he wants. Zayn gives it to him, sucking  down the head of his cock. It’s a lot, the salty taste and the way Harry’s letting out these soft moans. He can only get it halfway down his throat without it feeling like too much, that flutter in his throat like he’ll choke.

“Do you want me to put my fingers in, too? Get you ready for me?” Zayn pulls off to say, and Harry nods.

“Lube’s in the side table.” Harry says, shucking off his shirt completely. He starts pulling off his jeans too, leaving him naked.

Zayn retrieves it, and a condom. He starts pulling off his clothes as well, leaving them in a heap on Harry’s floor. Harry’s rolling his nipple between his fingers when he gets back.

He spreads Harry’s legs further, bending them back until they’re pressed against his chest. He looks amazing like this, cock hard and leaking against his stomach with his cross necklace laying on his chest. He’s hot inside, adjusting to one finger in him easily. His hips jerk up one particularly hard suck, and he clenches tight around Zayn’s finger. He can’t wait to feel that all around his cock, and he almost feels dizzy with it when he gently works up to a second finger.

“Can I hold your head?” Harry breathes out, and Zayn has to pull off quickly so he doesn’t choke.

“You want to make me gag on it?” Zayn asks, and Harry moans, “Fuck, yes.”

Zayn lets him, Harry’s cock so deep he feels like he can handly breathe. It’s so, so good, and his head feels spinny from the alcohol and lack of oxygen. He finally works Harry up to three fingers, so wet with lube they sound like a pussy when Zayn fucks them in. Harry writhing on the bed, fingers threaded in Zayn’s hair so tight it almost hurts.

“I’m gonna come, fuck.” Harry groans, and Zayn just keeps going faster, working his fingers so he’s hitting Harry’s prostate. He comes, back coming off the bed and his cock deep in Zayn’s throat.

Zayn pulls off, swallows it all down.

“God, that was amazing,” Harry praises, sitting up so he can kiss Zayn properly. He has to be able to taste himself in his mouth, and it makes his cock throb.  “What do you want? I think I’m too sensitive for a dick right now,” Harry says, almost looking sad.

“Anything.” Zayn says, feeling fucked out. Harry starts jerking him off, kissing down his jaw and neck.

“I’ve wanted you since Ben introduced us.” Harry murmurs, kissing Zayn over and over. His hand picks up speed, thumb twisting hard over the head. It’s good, and he’s coming over his chest, dripping down Harry’s hand.

Harry gets up to go to the bathroom, and Zayn watches his little ass as he walks by. He can’t believe that just happened.

“You know what I think?” Harry says once he’s back into the bed. They’re curled up together under the covers, facing each other.. “We should fuck around all the time. Be proper fuckbuddies.”

Zayn snorts. “You only want me for my dick.” He pretends to try and turn himself around, but Harry puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I want your companionship, too.” Harry says, keeping a straight face. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Fine, we can fuck around.” Zayn sighs, like he hasn’t been waiting Harry since day one. Harry kisses him and smiles, rolling over for Zayn to press up against his back.

                                                                                             --

He wakes up with a jolt, head throbbing like a drum in his skull, and Harry mouthing along his cock. The light from the window behind them streams in and makes him look very angelic, even though he’s reaching down to palm Zayn’s balls. He’s tangled up in the sheets, but Zayn can still see the outline of his ass from where he’s laying on his stomach.

“Fuck, Harry,” he groans out, gets a handful of his hair, “what time is it?”

Harry pulls off long enough to say, “6. I have a breakfast I have to go to at 9, and I wanted you to fuck me like I promised.”

Zayn just stares down at him, feeling a mix between enamored and like he wants to fuck his mouth. Harry keeps eye contact, slides his mouth down until it’s pressing against the stubble of Zayn’s crotch. He gags a bit, and it feels amazing, the wet hot heat of Harry’s throat and the way Harry is looking at him like he’s the best thing in the world.

“I had a good time too, babe. Your mouth feels so amazing.” Zayn praises, pulls on Harry’s hair to get him to raise back up. It makes Harry make a noise in the back of his throat, like a soft groan. Zayn does it again, pulls hard enough that his cock slips out of Harry’s mouth, and Harry groans out loud.

“Do you like that?” Zayn asks, even though it’s obvious by the way Harry’s panting and grinding his dick slowly into the bed.

“Yes.” is all he says. Zayn feels a bit selfish, seeing Harry buck his hips up into the bed to try and get off.

“Come up here.” He says, pats his lap. Harry untangles from the sheets, and climbs into Zayn’s lap with more grace than he had last night. Zayn has to kiss him, because he looks soft and sweet and hungover in the morning light. Harry’s a menace, though, because he positions himself until Zayn’s cock is laying between his cheeks.

“I want to be able to feel you when I’m sitting around with all those old business men.” Harry says, brazenly as he grinds down on Zayn’s dick.

Zayn gives a gasp as he feels the head of his cock catch on Harry’s hole, still wet from last night. He starting to love this side of Harry, the side that has no shame in asking for what he wants.

“Do you want me to fuck you with no condom on, so you can feel the cum in you all morning?” Zayn asks, grabbing hold of Harry’s hips and controlling the slide of his cock through his cheeks. Zayn isn’t sure where that came from himself, but it makes Harry groan and drops his head down. He doesn’t think he’s ever said anything that dirty at 6 am.

“I have to leave in 30 minutes, fuck.” Harry moans, lays his head in the space between Zayn shoulder and neck as Zayn roots through the sheets for the lube.

“Let me get a condom,” Zayn starts once he’s found the bottle, but Harry interrupts him, saying “I want it like you said. I'm clean."

Zayn kisses him, wonders who the hell he’s gotten into his life. He’s about to coat his fingers in it when Harry shakes his head, snatches the bottle to lube up Zayn’s dick. It’s cold and it makes him shiver, makes him feel like he’s finally woke up and out of his warm sleepy state.

“I’m still wet from last night.” Harry mummers, and Zayn can see him reach behind himself to spread the lube over his hole. He slips in a finger in himself, and Zayn figures it must slide in easily by the way Harry huffs and reaches for Zayn’s cock. He teases him, rubs the head around his wet rim until Zayn slaps his ass lightly to make him move on. He feels wet and hot inside, and it feels like ages until he’s finally all the way down, flush to Zayn’s pelvis. Harry just sits for a moment, eyes closed and what looks like a little smile on his face. Zayn rubs on the tops of his thighs, uses his fingers to draw out little circles. It feels different from last night, less fanatic and rushed. When Harry finally moves, Zayn can’t stop himself from praising him, how amazing he looks and how he feels inside.

Being with Harry feels like a whirlwind, from the moment they both come to the moment Harry’s finally dressed and almost late to his breakfast, pinned up against Zayn’s front door kissing him with minty fresh breath and Zayn’s cum in his ass. They pull apart, and Harry gives him a smile that’s all dimples before he goes out the door to his expensive car parked out front.

The only thing Zayn feels like doing is going back to bed, so he does. He wakes up again at 12, feeling loose and warm and a lot less hungover, and checks his phone. Harry must have followed himself on his Instagram whenever he played with Zayn's phone last night, because Zayn can see the last photo he posted 3 hours ago on his feed. It’s Harry’s hand, fingers curled around a mason jar filled with a green smoothie, and Zayn’s black and gold ring on his thumb. Zayn’s not even sure when Harry took it.

He texts Harry a quick, ‘when did u nick my ring ? :)’ before he finally gets himself out of bed to shower. He comes back, hair dripping, to find Harry’s texted him, ‘Guess I’ll have to come over some time this week to give it back .xx’ Zayn feels himself smiling down at his phone, feeling warm and happy.                                                                              

**\--  
**   


“Do you ever feel like they don’t see us?” Zayn mumbles, slumped over the black leather couch he’s got sitting in the middle of his living room. He’s brought over a tupperware bowl of weed and rolling papers, and he’s on his second joint. Harry’s on his first, poised on the other end of the couch in only his little black pants, bare skin sticking to the leather. He can only do a couple puffs at a time, asthma he says. He coughed so much on his first hit that Zayn thought he would have to give him mouth to mouth.

Zayn’s gone at this point, in his little world where he sees everything as deeper than it is. Danny would say he’s full of shit right about now. Harry snorts, “Who doesn’t see us?”

Zayn stares him down, feeling heavy all over. “The industry, mate. They just see us as a face and body for their fucking clothes.”

Harry pauses, nods like he’s thinking. “Isn’t that, like, the point though? We’re like walking mannequins.”

“I don’t want to be a mannequin,” Zayn says, not realizing how childish his voice sounds until Harry’s laughing at him. He gives him a look, would swat out at his knee cap if he didn’t feel so lazy.

“I know what you mean, though,” Harry finally says, “It feels a bit dehumanizing.”

Zayn nods, takes another inhale from the rolled up paper between his fingers and lets the burn of it go down his throat.

“It’s like, all the attention is on your body and how it looks in the clothes, and how your body’s either a walking clothing rack or a style that someone else should try to emulate.” Zayn rambles, watching Harry watch him through hooded eyes.

“I like that part about it,” Harry says, “I like the attention on my body, sometimes. Feels good.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, tries not to glance down at Harry’s prick resting in his pants, “I know you do.”

Harry just grins. He takes in a little breath on his own joint and holds it down rather well. “I used to hate it,” he says through a cloud of white smoke, “when I was younger and doing all those teen clothing ads.”

He slumps his head back against the armrest. Zayn waits for him to continue. A story by Harry takes ages, takes even longer when he’s buzzed.

“I started, all young, and sometimes I think maybe I wasn’t ready. For, like, the way the industry guys just see you as a category. Felt like I had no control over where I was going.” Harry mumbles, “I was marketed all posh. It’s strange when someone else controls how people see you. Made me want to rebel so bad that I made stupid decisions.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a while, isn’t really sure what there is to say. It still amazes him whenever Harry decides to share himself with him, feels like the ultimate privilege. So he mumbles, "It sucks, mate. I’ve been labeled ‘urban’ since my first day modeling.” When he first started, he would’ve hated someone like Harry. He remembers being against all the mainstream ads, all the boys that just had to smile big and look good in a button up top to get jobs.

Harry sits quiet for a minute, takes one last hit before stubbing it out. “It’s fucked.” is what he says finally, sighing.

Zayn agrees, stubs out his own. He feels relaxed, all muscles lax like he could melt into the couch. He thinks about prying, asking Harry more, but he figures it’ll come with time. Harry doesn’t look very interested in talking about it anyway.

“Haven’t smoked in a long time,” Harry says, looks over to Zayn with glassy eyes, “It always makes me so horny.”

“Hard up for it?” Zayn snorts, and Harry just laughs, spreads his legs like he’s inviting Zayn in. He lets Harry change the mood easily, because Zayn's feeling that same undercurrent in his blood, the slight desperation that comes with being high and horny.

It’s easy to slide down off of the couch onto his knees in front of Harry. He’s half hard, and he bucks his hips up into Zayn’s fingers as he feels along the length of him. He sucks over the head, mouth full of fabric, makes Harry huff and pull pants down so his dick springs out. This is easy, something Zayn loves when he’s out of his head like this.

He sucks the head down, makes himself go down almost to the base until he feels like he’ll gag. Harry’s staring down at him, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. He lets himself fall into a rhythm, bobbing up and down, teasing his gag reflex. Harry’s hands rest at his sides and Zayn scrambles for one, puts it on the back of his head like a suggestion. Harry gets it, applies pressure and makes Zayn go down deeper. He doesn’t do this a lot, and he’s breathing harshly against Harry’s smooth shaven crotch. It’s a lot, almost too much, and Harry holds him, makes him take it. He doesn’t let Harry have control like this often. His head’s swimming from the weed and the lack of oxygen when he taps Harry’s thigh to let him back up. He takes a deep breath, pants hot and wet in the V of Harry’s thighs.

Zayn thinks it’s the first time they’ve fucked around with any dirty talk, but for once, neither of them has anything to say. He sucks along the side, making his prick shine wet and glossy with his spit. He’s about to put it back in his mouth when Harry taps his cheek, makes him look up.

“Not ready to come yet,” he says, voice hoarse from smoking.

“What do you want?” Zayn says, feeling needy and desperate staring up at Harry like this.

Harry must feel it too, because he beckons for Zayn to get up off his knees. They kiss for a bit, getting into a lazy rhythm as Zayn presses his hand against the small of Harry’s back to make them rut together.

“Could come like this.” Harry mummers.

Zayn mumbles an agreement, circles a hand around their dicks for friction.

It doesn't take long before Zayn's coming, Harry following soon after with a moan he stifles in Zayn's shoulder blade. He feels fucked out and hazy and warm, laying with Harry with no space between them. He can feel Harry kissing his neck, softly, before he moves up to his jawline.

"I'm ready to go to bed." he mumbles, so close Zayn can feel the words against his skin as much as hear them.

They sleep that night, tangled together. Harry has his back to Zayn's front, soft and warm in his high and the afterglow.

"Love being with you." Harry mumbles, fingers tracing the back of Zayn's palms. It feels raw and honest, the only kind of honest people can be when they're gone. The kind of honest that Harry won’t remember in the morning.

"Me too." Zayn says back. They lay in comfortable silence until Zayn finally manages to fall asleep, wondering how he fell in so deep.

**\--  
**   


Harry becomes a fixture in his home, predictably. He stays all night most days, sleeps in Zayn's bed and let's Zayn hold him while they sleep even though Harry's a bit taller. Harry cooks meals, goes out to Whole Foods and comes back with biodegradable paper sacks filled with vegetables, free range eggs, and every single fruit in season. He shoves them all in Zayn's little fridge, tells him to stay clear of the kitchen while he works himself over to make dinner like he's a proper house wife. He does it almost every night he doesn't have to walk or meet with business men, and it becomes a routine.   
  
It's nice, because Zayn likes Harry's company, likes the way he makes himself so at home with Zayn. He likes the way Harry seems to know the nights Zayn wants to talk or go out, and the nights he wants to hole up on the couch with shitty reality TV until he feels numb. It's just strange, because he feels like he's married to Harry, yet they aren't even dating. He knows the way Harry sounds when he's right on the edge of coming and he knows the way Harry sounds singing to himself while making a stir fry. It's confusing, and Zayn supposes he's never been one for labels, but he wants one right about now.   
  
He finally gets home from the show, tired and ready to wash off all the makeup they've caked on him.   
  
"I'm home, babe." he calls out, kicks off his boots at the front door.   
  
"Kitchen!" Harry calls back, exactly where Zayn thought he would be.   
  
He's chopping up what looks to be kale, and Zayn wrinkles up his nose. He comes up behind him presses himself against Harry's broad back, kisses all sloppy on the back of his neck like he knows Harry likes.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing with that?" he says, as Harry tries to swat him away.   
  
"Chopping it up to put in the pasta sauce. We need the vitamins," Harry mummers. Zayn walks over to the stove, sees the white sauce bubbling away.   
  
"I thought we were on a carb ban?" Zayn jokes, eyes the little box of pasta noodles Harry has sitting out that has 'Gluten Free and Whole Wheat' printed on it in big letters.   
  
"We need carbs sometimes, Zayn," Harry teases, rolls his eyes, "Get with the program."   
  
They eat together in the living room on Zayn's too expensive couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table with some sappy rom-com Harry picked out playing in the background. Zayn brags on him about how good the food was until Harry tells him to stop sucking up.   
  
They go to bed early, as much as Zayn hates too, because he's got a shoot and Harry's meeting up with work people for breakfast. He curls himself up behind Harry, face full of his curls and the smell of his coconut shampoo, and thinks they’ve overstepped whatever boundaries they had down.  
  


                                                                                              --

Zayn's backstage and sweating, the kind of humid heat that hundreds of people grouped together produce. He's dressed and ready to present fall Alexander Wang menswear, and he hates the fact shows start ahead of the actual season when he can feel sweat dripping down his back. He's wearing a stiff black coat with a paler green leaf print imprinted on it, and a lime green button down shirt buttoned to his neck. The pants are printed with the same patterned, the leave print uninterrupted until the double cuff of the trousers and the start of the  black oxfords. Zayn feels like he's being strapped into a heat stroke as the stylist smooths down the coat.  They've got fans going everywhere, and they cart him over to one to stand until it's almost his time to walk.  He huffs and checks his phone, sees Harry's texted him the usual, 'Are you home?' He sends him no and a little frowning emoji.  
  
'Who are you walking for?' Harry asks next. Zayn uses one hand to wipe sweat off his forehead and the other to type out, 'Alexander Wang.'   
  
Harry's texting back faster than usual, Zayn's already seeing the little text bubble pop up as soon as he's hit send. 'I was invited to that show,' the text reads, 'Should I come watch?'   
  
Zayn probably looks like an idiot, smiling down at his phone. 'It starts in 20 mins ! You may not make it' he texts back.   
  
'I'm only 10 minutes away from the venue. See you soon babe.' Harry says, Zayn barely having any time to read it before he's being whisked away to retouch his hair.   
  
                                                                          --   
  
Standing in line waiting gives him that familiar nervousness, like he's up next to sing in the school play. It always feels like he blacks out on his walk, which sounds extreme and only makes sense to him. He doesn't feel like he breathes until he's crossed back across the catwalk, disappearing backstage with the next model quickly taking his place. He doesn't look for Harry on his first go through, keeps his head held high and a blank expression. The next walk, all the models lined up to cross back across the stage; he spares a glance for Harry out of his peripheral. He sees him, front row wearing a fucking leopard print trench coat, smiling the most obnoxiously cute smile. He's clapping, giving a little wave to Zayn that he knows Zayn can't return.   
  
Zayn only has one outfit in this show, which he's glad for, because he can put his street clothes back on and meet up Harry. He looks even better up close, even though Zayn can only see him from behind as he walks up to where Harry's standing outside on the crosswalk with his phone to his ear. He's got on black jeans as well, tight as always, and black boots with shiny gold hardware. He'll be in the street style section of GQ for sure.   
  
He taps his shoulder, and Harry looks confused until he sees his face. He smiles big, and it makes something warm stew in Zayn's stomach like a love sick school girl. Harry kisses his cheek, smelling like expensive cologne. He tells who ever he was talking to goodbye and shoves his phone in his pocket.  
  
"Hey, babes." Zayn greets, rubs his hand down the back of Harry's coat. Harry leans into his touch like he always does, let's Zayn swing an arm around his waist. People pass by in waves and it feels nice to be tethered to Harry like this. He loves when Harry lets him get in his space, loves when Harry curls himself around Zayn like they're proper boyfriends. It scares him how much he feels he's got in this, whatever this is, like stepping in a puddle and finding out it's a sinkhole.   
  
"You looked amazing, as usual." Harry says, like he means it. His eyes are serious, that intense model look on his face when he doesn't want anyone to take the piss out of what he's saying. It's too sincere for two people just fucking around.

“Are you coming to mine?” Zayn asks, letting Harry leading them over to his car.

“I would, but I’ve got a dinner with Jeff.” Harry frowns, “I’ll try to see you tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

Zayn nods, kissing Harry quick before he drives off.

Harry doesn’t show up tomorrow. Or the day after that. Zayn understands that need for personal time, so he doesn’t press it. Work is busy, preparing for fashion week. He’s booked for Valentino, and he figures that Harry’s booked for Gucci. He was excited about that, Zayn remembers him coming home after they made him the offer to star in one of their campaigns. He looked amazing in it, long hair falling down his shoulders with a black and white spotted furry trench coat on. Zayn was so proud, he wrapped Harry up into a hug as tight as his old auntie’s would give him.   
  
It starts to get strange after Harry hasn’t spoke to him in three days, though. He isn’t responding to any of Zayn’s texts. Zayn goes on twitter later that day, scrolling around to pass time while the practice the runway walk, and sees that Harry’s tweeted something. It’s some indie bullshit song lyric. It almost seems like Harry’s ignoring him, and that pisses him off even more. He doesn’t even try texting Harry again, deleting their conversation from his phone.

Harry’s always been flighty, jumping from person to person. He guesses Zayn really was just there for him to fuck around with until he found someone new. The thought Zayn’s been skipped over by him is enough to make him turn his phone off for the rest of the day.

                                                                                                  --

It’s easy to fall into routine with Harry. One of Zayn's favorite Harry things, as he's took to calling them in his head, is when Harry reads to him in bed. It used to make him feel like a middle aged woman, holed up in bed beside Harry reading a book with the night light on, until Harry starting doing it too. He reads poetry of all kinds, contemporary and the old classics, that he buys from the over priced vintage bookshop near Zayn's house. 

  
Zayn likes it when he's tired, too tired to try and read anything of his own, and Harry lets him lay his head on his shoulder so Zayn can read it along with him. He likes it the best when Harry reads it aloud, sounding raspy and tired. It's the only time Zayn doesn't get pissed at the way Harry takes ages to complete a sentence.   
  
The last time Harry was curled up in his bed, he was reading Rumi. Zayn was beyond tired, flopped down on the bed beside him and he looked up at Harry with his bottom lip sucked in his mouth like a child. Harry started reading then, because he's easy and Zayn knows him too well.   
  
He starts off once he's finally found a poem he likes. "The souls has been given it's own ears," he reads, deep and raspy voice sounding like a lullaby to Zayn's ears. He pulls back the duvet and Harry moves himself around until he's practically sitting in Zayn's lap, his back half pressed against the headboard and Zayn's chest.   
  
"...to hear the things the mind does not understand. Be quiet. Find acquaintances with silence. Go inside."   
  
And then it's over, Harry looking over at Zayn with a little smile. That was the last night in a month that Harry had slept next to him.   
  
His bed is cold, and he feels like a fucking sap when he just wishes for the warm press of Harry against his chest. Friends with benefits don't read poetry in bed together, he thinks angrily. They don't fucking wake up and kiss even though the inside of their mouths taste disgusting. They don't roll out of bed and make breakfast and tea with just the right amount of milk.   
  
He hates being like this, angry but tired and it makes him so irritated at the thought Harry isn't missing him. He hates pining. He's done the whole dating but not dating, fucking around but never being official. He was a pro at it when he was younger. But as he lays there, the only thing he wants is Harry burrowed in the sheets. And he wants to burn that book of Rumi poetry Harry left carelessly on his bed side table. The sight of it awakes more anger, white hot, and he snatches it up and rips up enough pages until he feels rational again. The book wasn't worth the 20 quid Harry paid for it anyway.   
  
He stares at the remnants on the floor for a bit, feeling less angry and more wrung out. He supposed that maybe, somewhere in between fucking Harry daily and Harry showing Zayn off to all his posh model friends like a trophy, Harry didn't know what Zayn wanted. That he didn't know Zayn was obviously head over heels in the most disgusting way.   
  
He thinks maybe it's his fault, never asking Harry to make it official. He stares at his phone, thinks about the last time he spoke to Harry. He puts his phone on airplane mode and stares at the ceiling until he finally falls asleep.

                                                                                          --

London fashion week is busy, busy, busy. It always is. Makeup artists run full speed from model to model, assistants jog with arms loaded down with clothes on hangers, and models get carted from station to station. Christoper Kane and Burberry have shows today, and he's decided to watch. He's thankful he's not walking today, the movement and rushing backstage always made him more jittery. It's nice to be on the outside for once, the ability to just sit and watch and not have to participate.

He guided to his seat and he looks around, seeing no one he's really familiar with. He plays around on his hole for a moment, typing into google maps how far the venue for Burberry is from here when he sees Harry. He remembers when he last saw him at a runway show, the Alexander Wang show, how happy he was. It pisses him off to see him now, clean and pretty and dressed in an oversized floral print shirt. He hates that he still feels that pull in his chest to go over and kiss him. It'd be easier if he was the kind of angry he can get when the person has really wronged him, but he can't find himself getting mad at Harry. Harry's talking in some little group of people Zayn doesn't know, and he looks away as soon as Harry starts looking in his general direction.

The little group he's standing with sits down on the seats opposite of the runway. Harry's not directly in front of him, but he's only a few seats down, close enough it makes Zayn want to scream. The show starts, and he can't keep himself from sneaking glances in Harry's direction. He's always looking up whenever Zayn looks, watching the models. Zayn keeps looking, until finally Harry makes eye contact with him. Harry just stares, and Zayn wants to mouth something to him, like 'Why have you ignored me for days?' or 'Who the fuck are those people you're with?' but Harry looks away. Zayn makes himself watch the models until the show ends. He goes out of his way to avoid Harry, walking briskly toward the entrance of the venue until he's stopped by someone from the press with a microphone in her hand. She asks what he thinks about his friend Harry Styles being at fashion week, how great it must be to have such a good friendship with another model. Zayn wants to say something mean, something Harry can't fucking ignore. Instead, he says it's great, it's good to have a support system. He walks off then, out until he sees the car that'll take him to the Burberry show. He hates being hung up over someone, but he wants closure. He wants Harry telling him to fuck off, or Harry saying that they just weren’t right for each other. He just wants to know what to do now that they’re nothing.

 **  
**\-- The only thing he’s thinking as he sees himself reflected into the mirror in his hotel bathroom is how fucked he is. The after party was fun, too much fun, Zayn drinking more shots than he has in ages. It reminds him of how this all started. **  
**

He turns his phone on, see the texts from Ben and Niall. He ignore them, sitting on the edge of his bed. He calls Harry, holds his breath as the call rings. It rings out. He tries again, and Harry answers on the last ring.

“Hello?” Harry says, sounding like he’s just woke up.

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he exactly wants to say, his mind scrambled.

“Why haven’t you spoke to me in four days?” he blurts out, sounding as venomous as he feels right now.

“Zayn…” Harry starts, before Zayn cuts him off, “I know you only wanted to fuck around, but you could have at least just kept it at that. You stayed at my house for weeks, Harry. Do you know how fucking confusing that was?”

“I thought you liked having me around.” Harry says, slowly. He sounds upset. Zayn’s too mad to care.

“Of course I fucking do. I don’t want to just fuck around, I want to be something proper,” Zayn sighs, “How could you not see that?”

Harry’s silent over the phone. He finally says, “You’ve wanted to date me this whole time?”

“Yes, fuck,” Zayn sighs into the phone, “You mean something to me, Harry.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry says, quietly, “Can I explain?”

“Yes, I want you to.” Zayn says.

“I didn’t want anything serious, at first. But I do know, fuck. I kept spending all those days at your house and falling deeper and deeper for you, and I thought you didn’t want to be with me. I thought that you still thought what I thought when we first had sex. I stopped talking to you because I thought I wanted more than you did. When I saw you at the Hood by Air show, I didn’t know what to say.”

Zayn holds the phone. “Harry, I want as much as you do.” He wants to scream at the both of them for being so stupid.

“I didn’t want to fuck it up,” Harry laughs, “I just...thought we would never go anywhere. But I was wrong, Zayn.”

“This feels like we’re in a cheesy movie,” Zayn says, smiling to himself, “What do we do know?”

“Well, I guess this is where I ask you to be my official boyfriend.” Harry says, and Zayn can practically hear his smile through the phone.

“I accept.” Zayn laughs, and Harry cheers loudly, making Zayn laugh.

“I can’t believe we almost fucked it up.” Zayn sighs, laying down against the pillows.

“Everything’s going to be great, Zayn.” Harry says, and Zayn believes him. He falls asleep that night feeling lighter than he has in a while.

**\--**

It’s the last day of London Fashion Week, and they decide to stay in London for a while. The media caught up on them being an official couple, and all the gossip websites have started posting pictures of them together. It’s fine though, because Zayn can finally walk around holding Harry’s hand without questioning himself.

Harry’s the star of the Gucci runway show, Zayn sat proudly in the front row. He watches him walk, confident with his head high, and Zayn thinks he couldn’t be more gone.

They go everywhere together, but Zayn’s favorite place is in bed with Harry, Harry’s back to his chest. Harry snores, but Zayn wouldn’t trade him for anything.


End file.
